


Squared

by TotemundTabu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Biphobia, F/M, LGBTQ Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: After too many biphobic partners, Ellaria gets wary of people and the community, until she meets someone just like her.





	Squared

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in no way insulting to my monosexual brothers and sisters. It's largely based on personal experience and the experience of people close to me but I perfectly know not all gay, lesbians and straight people are like biphobic.  
> I hope it didn't come off in any negative way!

**Squared**

 

* * *

 

 

_I know you know I know that there's_

_something that's worth holding onto,_

_in spite of the burned out scene and_

_the aging pains and the quiet little monsters …_

 

* * *

 

 

She did come out.

But it was like they listened only to the part they wanted to hear and the rest got washed off their hands, rainwater down the drain. It was too much for them to grab, so they just let it fall down and allow half of her heart to go to waste.

They kept the part they liked.

There was a secret compartment in her closet, and taking it out often made people hit her closet up, punch the wardrobe shut or throw it on the ground.

She stopped bringing it up pretty soon.

She didn’t like the discussions, the fights, girlfriends checking her phone and asking her for a report of her past, or giving her glances of horror as if she had been dirtied and by touching her they got infected.

Boyfriends weren’t much better, they welcomed it as a chance for lewd comments.

Ellaria had learnt the art of holding the flutes stem just hard enough for her anger to go somewhere and not enough to break it – an equilibrium she ended up exploiting much more than she would have liked to. She had spilled wine or blood at times, finding herself having to bear with the red spilling out, dark and screaming. As she couldn’t.

She couldn’t yell.

She couldn’t stand up and leave.

She wished she had that strength, that fierce pride, but she had always just wanted love. And anger seethed through her stomach, but couldn’t rise to her self-sewn lips.

She didn’t want to lose people.

Even if they couldn’t accept her.

Pathetic, isn’t it?

So she had stopped putting herself in the condition of testing them, she had stopped coming out fully, she had nailed that little compartment deep inside the closet and there it stayed. Having a job that forced her to continuously move allowed her a secret life she had never wanted to lead.

In Barcelona she had a girl, she tasted like honey and sea salt and drove a tiny bit too fast and laughed at people she didn’t like, but she was the tenderest in the moonlight. She snorted at a bisexual flag at Pride, Ellaria didn’t find in her throat the voice to correct her, but it simmered down her stomach and it weighed heavy like stones in the pool of her belly.

In Madrid she met a man, who had hands big and calloused like bark, he’d bruise her when he rutted into her, but oh he told her such sweet nothings he made her knees weak. It was almost easy, until she had confessed, and then he joked about threesomes until sweat and lip biting had turned her sour towards all of him.

In Granada she was called lesbian again, this time she didn’t move for a while and for two years she sewed and entwined her thoughts, convincing herself to tell the truth. This one seemed to welcome, to understand, she never laughed, never said “they don’t exist”. Ellaria had considered the two of them spreading on soft blue silk sheet a deal to bring on forever. But when she found her voice, she found also a dish, slammed against her eye and a metallic chuckle “You cheated on me didn’t you”. 

She didn’t speak about Valencia. And she never told why she flinches when a man yells or when a door slams.

Years passed, almost ten, on and off, and the compartment screws got so tight she felt her own rib cage clenching and tensing, about to collapse on itself, with every screw she added.

It was in Seville she landed last.

And it was there she decided to stay. She had a promotion, a little office she could see the Guadalquivir from and a good group of friends at her job.

She craved love but was too scared to search for it.

Arianne, though, was a tornado who didn’t take no for an answer. She was a brilliant intern at the Museum office – she wanted to become a politician like her father, but thought an internship would help her and she was one of the smartest and most hard-working girls Ellaria ever met. When June approached and came into their lives, with the scent of magnolia and lotus flowers, Arianne had started wearing little rainbows – one time a necklace, once a pleated skirt, once earrings … and Ellaria had noticed them.

More than anything, Arianne had noticed her noticing.

“Your nails are really short.”, she commented once, apparently innocently, while bringing her a cup of coffee.

Ellaria almost choked on her breath at that and Arianne’s face lit up.

“I knew it!”

“Ssssh. - Ellaria put a finger to her lips – There is nothing to say.”

“You’re not out?”, Arianne asked, blinking.

Was she ever? For real?

“I… am but, I’m not really one to say it at my workplace or such.”

“Old-school. - Arianne sighed – Fine, hey, do you want to come to the exhibition we put up at the community centre? - she grinned, sly, smart girl knew how to convince her – Please, I would _love_ to have you there!”

Ellaria swallowed.

What was she going to be this time around? What were people going to decide to call her other than herself?

Was  _bisexual_ such a dirty word?

She smiled, “Sure. I’ll come. - she promised – Now return to your desk.”

“Great! - Arianne was beaming – Right after work. Oh, I can’t wait to introduce you to my uncle, he accepted to participate at the exhibition and...”

Ellaria squinted her eyes.

“Wait, your uncle would be?”

“Oberyn Martell? The sculptor?”

Ellaria felt immensely stupid. Martell was no common surname, but she had never guessed that the reckless, unruly artist and the button-up subtle politician would be  _related_ of all things.

Maybe those types of distant cousins who meet once a year at Christmas.

Then it hit her again.

He was bi.

She knew, everyone knew, he always _made sure_ everyone did. He sculpted naked women and men both, the sensuous flesh of both shining through the different materials, both as lustful as possible, and he had corrected people over and over during the years.

He had the guts she never had.

And… she could meet him?

A mix of reverential admiration and shameful inadequacy hit her both in the chest and she felt her heartbeat drum.

“I’ll be happy to come…”, she whispered, almost breathless.

And if he was coming, if he was invited, then – she dared to hope – this time, this time at least, people would have been respectful. Ten years had passed, after all, ten full years.

Some stuff must have changed, right?

She found herself feverishly happy.

Arianne knocked at the door of her office five minutes before closing, almost jumping with excitement and pride. Ellaria wondered if that was how she could have felt at eighteen, if she hadn’t heard mean words from those who claimed to love her.

She wondered if she had been deprived of that stupidly perfect joy of knowing she’d belong fully and not only with terms and conditions and silence.

They walked on the streets with Arianne almost dancing, the summer breeze blowing her skirt like a sail, the light hitting the colours on her painted glass earrings and staining her amber skin with them.

Ellaria found herself so grey in comparison. She felt older than she was, thinner too.

“Soooo… - Arianne said, smiling, turning towards her tutor – No judgment from me, but how come you didn’t say anything when you saw me sporting the flag?”

“Was I supposed to?”, Ellaria lowered her eyes.

“Usually people are happy to see someone like them?”

Someone like her.

That sounded absurd.

She felt alone most of her life.

“You know what? - Arianne smiled – Doesn’t matter, just have fun now.”

Ellaria was thankful but this didn’t stop her from flinching in doubt when Arianne stopped in front of a gay bar and opened the door, shouting, in thrill, “Fags and dykesss, I brought you a guest!”.

Arianne stiffened.

She felt suddenly out of place, with all those young people, some even in their teens, jumping around ecstatic.

She rubbed her arm with the other, crossed over her chest, closed up.

The exhibition was taking half of the bar’s space: sculptures and paintings were placed where just some days ago there where extra sofas, everyone was moving through the art pieces with glasses in their hands. Ellaria felt her legs weak, she sat down at the bar, labouring to breathe in.

“You look like a deer in hunting season.”

She turned.

Next to her a man, more charming than handsome, tall and slender, with a sculpted, saturnine face. His nose could cut the air. He had long, black hair, tied in a ponytail, just a grey lock left free by the side of his face, complimenting the widow’s peak.

He had fierce eyes, they looked lustful and somewhat lonesome.

He had a tiny, flirty smirk.

“Intimidated by teenagers?”

Ellaria let out a sigh of relief, “Oh god, yes.”

“They are so… strong-willed. - he said, with an inch of admiration – But I understand roughly 20% of what they say.”

“You’re way better than me, then. - she replied with a little, shy smile – My intern almost dragged me here directly from the closet.”

The man laughed, amused.

“Arianne? That sounds like her.”

Ellaria blinked, “You know her well?”

“You could say so. - he turned to the barman – Please, Jon, be nice, a glass of, hmm… - he squinted his eyes – Do you still have that Vega Sicilia red?”

The bartender rolled his eyes back, “Unico from 96, yes, we basically get it just for you.”

“Be nice, make me look good in front of this lady, will you? - he chuckled, embarrassed, but not looking nervous, then turned to her – Will you keep me company on the red wine or do I get you something else?”

“I can pay for myself.”

“If you want to. - he mused – But, you see, you’re doing me a favour by accepting to drink with me and keep me company while I complain about young people, so, for how I see it… - he grabbed the bottle from Jon and poured them both the red wine – It’s just obvious for me to be the one offering.”

Ellaria let out a small huff.

“I see. - she smiled – But I’d rather have a Cocolubis.”

He almost chuckled, “Harvested at night?”

Ellaria glanced at him.

Jon was too done and just groaned to himself, “And I’d like to find a Sierra Cantabria Teso La Monja one thousand dollar bottle laying around so I could pay rent easily, but here I am...”

The man snorted, “You old lady. - he shook his head and smiled at Ellaria – Jon is always grumpy, don’t mind him. He’s a dad more than a daddy.”

“First of all, how dare you.”, Jon pretended to be annoyed, before pouring Ellaria her wine in a new glass.

Ellaria grabbed it gently between her fingers. “Thank you.”

“So… - he continued – What do you do?”

“I work with her at the Contemporary Art Centre.”

“Nice. - he raised his eyebrows – I like myself a contemporary kind of girl.”

“My specialization is in Prehistoric art, I ended up working at the contemporary as reserve.”

“… and an ancient kind of girl.”

Ellaria laughed, amused, “Well, aren’t you… not picky at all?”

“I like to taste a bit of everything.”

“You must be a nightmare at buffet parties.”

The man glanced warmly. He had something charismatic about him.

“That hurt. - he pursed his lips in a pout – I pride myself of being an utter nightmare in every situation, you must have guessed by now.”

Ellaria snorted, shaking her head and sipping the sweet red wine.

“You should be a lawyer then.”

“That’s too boring. I’d spiral into homicide. - he mused – Though, I have to say, my professional dreams were always a bit unrealistic, when I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate.”

“A pirate?”

“Too much Salgari, I reckon. - he smirked, charming – And you? What did you want to be?”

Ellaria shook her head, “A mom. - she laughed – I know, how… modern of me, right?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not necessarily bad as long as it’s a choice and not self-confinement. I’m a father and I quite like it.”

“Oh. - her voice dropped – Married?”

He laughed, “No, I’m just a father.”

She frowned, but he ignored it, “And what did the pirate boy end up doing?”

He smiled and, with an ample movement of the arm, pointed at the side of the bar, where the art was, “I’m right there too.”

“Oh! - she blinked – You could have told me.”

“But how could have I corrupted you into accepting to host me in an exhibition otherwise? I needed to seduce you beforehand.”

Ellaria shook her head, laughing. “Fair enough. - then she sipped again her wine – Ellaria, by the way.”

“Oberyn.”

Ellaria felt her jaw drop and the wine try to escape through her nose.

She placed a hand in front of her mouth and coughed before wheezing a thin, “Oberyn Martell?”

“I’m very much afraid so.”, he smiled.

Bacchus danced on his lips, his hands moved to her.

“Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded, weakly, “Just surprised. I, umh, I love your work.”

Oberyn smiled, radiant.

“I’m glad. If beautiful people didn’t like my art, I’d always feel like I did something wrong.”

“Now, that’s plain flattery.”

“Perhaps. - he didn’t deny it, his fingers pressed together a hem of silk of her dress – Purple. Lovely colour.”

“Thank you...”

Oberyn’s lips twitched up.

“You seem uncomfortable. You don’t come here often?”

“It’s been a while since I… felt like I could be a part of… this.”, she hesitated.

Oberyn frowned, “But we’re part of it. We always have been.”

Ellaria would have liked to ask how he had guessed, but she found herself speechless. Relief had lifted her from a weight deep inside her.

The screws came off, the compartment rolled out.

And her lungs seemed to be able to breathe again.

Her lips twitched nervously, her eyes were lucid.

“It didn’t always feel like that.”

“Now it will. - he passed his fingers on her hand, caressing her veins as if they were a road to her heart – Things do have a tendency to get better.”

Ellaria snorted, “What an optimist.”

“You are a melancholic, I can tell. - he mocked, lovingly, struck by the grace of her sadness – But sometimes looking forward helps.”

Ellaria sucked her lips.

“How did you find the will to keep coming out despite… people?”

Oberyn grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t take well people telling me what to do or who I am. I’m quite the riotous type under this charming dress.”

Ellaria nodded, as if she should have predicted it, “The pirate.”

“Absolutely.”

“Do pirates always flirt so sweetly?”, she asked, letting her glass dance in her hand.

“Depends. - he smiled, glancing at her, and his eyes were dark and gleaming – Do moms eat dinner out with pirates?”

She smiled, biting her bottom lip.

“At times.”

“Very nice to hear.”

Ellaria chortled sweetly, “God, I can’t believe coming out, for once, didn’t create drama.”

“Ah-a. - Oberyn grinned and moved his finger in front of her – You have to say it out loud.”

Ellaria raised her eyebrows.

It was not a dirty word.

No shame.

Not just pink or blue. The purple too.

Because purple was not just two other colours mixing. It was itself too.

It was purple first and foremost.

“I’m bi.”

Oberyn’s grin widened. “You see, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She raised her chin, proud, “Maybe you were right.”

“Maybe?”

“Why don’t you give me a tour around the exhibit, pirate?”

Oberyn chuckled and offered her his arm to hold.

And for once she knew she was being accepted. She held it, all of her.

Not just the half he wanted to see. Not just the half that was acceptable for the environment.

Both.

All of her was holding him and feeling his warmth, sincerity pushing them closer.

She could trust him. And so she did.


End file.
